


Ebb, Flood, and Ebb

by ishie



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 14:53:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishie/pseuds/ishie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hadn't been left alone again, she hadn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ebb, Flood, and Ebb

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mari4212](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mari4212/gifts).



> FIC AMNESTY. A billion years ago mari4212 asked for a crossover for Susan and the Doctor. And then I bookmarked [this poem](http://www.bartleby.com/250/57.html) in the story notes and a BBC archive video of the Princess Elizabeth's visit to Liverpool in 1949, and named it "Ebb, Flood, and Ebb" then abandoned it entirely. :|

The city seemed nearly deserted as Susan hurried to work. Streets quiet, pavements empty. It was as if everyone for miles had packed up and moved overnight. She shook her head at the thought. She hadn't been left alone again, she hadn't.

A bus came past, engine rumbling as it climbed the hill toward the city centre. A man sitting in an open window on the lower deck cupped his hands around his mouth as it went, his wordless hoot of excitement dissolving in the exhaust-filled air.

Almost everyone she knew here would be crowding along the Princess' route from the Lime Street station by now. Madeleine and George had set out with a picnic lunch fit for a queen, provided the queen had saved up eggs and butter enough to make little more than a small lumpy cake. Alfred had tucked a paper-wrapped sandwich and a flask into his coat. And Mrs Coule had been picked up in high fashion by her son, his dark saloon overflowing with bright-eyed children and his sulky wife.

They would strain on tiptoes for a glimpse of a royal profile. Tomorrow they would claim a wave or a look for their own. They would repeat the stories until they were as worn as their ration cards, and Susan would smile, and not think about any other stories but theirs.

But Susan was going to the shop, to sit behind the counter and sigh over a dog-eared novel. She had had enough of pomp and circumstance to last her another lifetime. Pretend though it had been, the sting of her losses were still too sharp.

She rounded the corner and collided with something that seemed to be wearing a bear-skin. It couldn't possibly be an actual bear, since they were all locked up at the Zoo. It was even more unlikely that it was a Bear; she hadn't seen one of those in ages...

That is, she hadn't _thought_ about them in ages, not since that summer long ago when Lucy had first made up her terrible, wonderful stories.

"I'm so very sorry, sir! I was in an awful rush and not watching where I was going. I haven't hurt you, have I?" she asked.

A dark, shaggy head rose above the bear-skin and grinned at her.

That was funny. She hadn't even considered that it might be a man.

He kept grinning at her, his eyes flicking from the hat covering her short, dark hair to her unfastened coat and the neatly pressed clothes visible beneath. She clutched her handbag a little tighter when he started to mumble.

"Yes, yes. She might do, mightn’t she?"

He took a few steps toward her, cocking his head to one side. She backed away slowly.

"Sir, please let me pass. I’m meeting my husband at that café just up the road and he’ll worry terribly if I’m late." The lie spilled out almost before she knew what was happening.

He stopped grinning at that and stared hard into her eyes. Something in his face made chills ripple up and down her spine but the fear that had suddenly gripped her melted away. There was something in his eyes, something soft and ... lost?

Suddenly, he pulled both hands out of his pockets and thrust one toward her. A lifetime of good manners compelled her to take it in her own. He covered their clasped hands with his free one and pumped energetically.

"So pleased to meet you, my dear! I’d almost lost hope that I—but that hardly matters, now we’ve met."

Susan shook her head, confused. "Doesn’t it? I’m afraid you have me at a loss, Mr ...?"

"You can call me The Doctor; all of my friends do."

"Are we to be friends then?"

"Ah! We may not have the closest of friendships, but I daresay that it will be a long one." He beamed at her and the lost look in his eye faded somewhat.

With an answering smile, she slid her hand out from between his. "And how long will we be friends before you ask my name?"

He started and looked up at the sky, then down at his shadow, then over to the bus roaring past. "By my calculations, I’d say ... about seven years, give or take a month."

She laughed. "That hardly seems to encourage a friendship."

"Oh, you’d be surprised. Very surprised indeed, unless I miss my guess."

"And you’re an expert in such matters?"

"I am," he said and puffed out his chest a little.

She couldn’t think of anything to say in return and settled for nodding as if what he’d said made perfect sense.

He grinned at her. "Come along, then! Time's wasting!"

Laughing as though he'd made a terribly witty joke, he took her hand again.


End file.
